My dad, Donald Charles Elliott, 63, died of respiratory failure on July 29 in the warm embrace of family. In the spring, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and given six months to a year to live.

I wrote about my fabulous father in June, so this column isn't about that goofy man who played the wacky polka on his accordion and who could impersonate Donald Duck. It isn't about how, despite fragile health, he still got down on the floor to play with his grandkids and insisted on calling my younger son by his middle name, "Elliott." It's not about the man who worked hard all his life, instilling in his kids a work ethic that we're eager to pass on, or about how Dad taught by example to treat others not only as good as you would treat yourself, but much better. No, this column is about the people who cared for my father in his last week of life -- people who clearly practiced the Golden Rule, too.

Having watched his parents die in hospitals, my dad always said he did not want to go that way. But in late July, he went to an emergency room unable to breathe and was transferred to the Seattle Veterans Affairs hospital. It didn't look good.

When I walked into the VA for what would be a week of sitting by my dad's hospital bed, I was concerned that his care wouldn't be good enough. The hospital looked much different than the Taj Mahospitals I had come to know giving birth to two children in the past five years and in visiting area children's hospitals. The VA didn't compare aesthetically. It was dilapidated and far less private.

My dad had a couple of different roommates at the VA. One was a man who, when disoriented, would throw his oxygen mask across the room and punch the nurses who tried to calm him down. My dad was transferred to a private room on day three, after I had grown a soft spot for this cantankerous fellow who had no visitors during the week we spent tending to my father. My siblings or I said hello to him daily (from a distance, of course).

But as the days wore on, I stopped being concerned about where my dad was receiving care. While the hospital wasn't as pretty or private as other facilities, the doctors, nurses, interns and housekeeping staff were amazing. My dad received professional, compassionate, respectful care. And when it was clear that my dad was on his way out, this crew of kind people shared our determination to get him home to die, per his wishes, teaching us how to make him comfortable after he made the move.

My mom, siblings and I stayed with my dad, taking shifts during his eight days at the VA to ensure he was never alone. That gave us a front-row seat watching workers interact with the full range of patients on our floor. And they cared gently for them all, those who lashed out and those who didn't. So of course, now I am on a crusade to urge the do-gooders and philanthropists in our community to donate time and talent to VA hospitals in the area.

Unlike private hospitals, the VA cannot solicit donations. As such, a lot of people don't know they could use help. As Anne Murphy, Portland-Vancouver Community Development Officer, told me Monday, "We do a lot for our veterans, but there is always an opportunity to do more." As for the differences between some VA facilities and their private counterparts, she said, "We often don't have fancy buildings because the money we have cares for veterans."

Veterans Affairs cares for the sick and offers, among many things, hospice services, homeless programs and Operation Diaper Bag (a program for newly pregnant veterans). The VA can help direct people to their passion areas, whether that's visiting long-term patients or providing funds to help keep things sparkling so our vets feel they're as treasured as the new moms at those fancy hospitals. Contact Murphy for more information about donating (anne.murphy@va.gov) or register to volunteer at www.volunteer.va.gov/apps/VolunteerNow.

My dad didn't die in a hospital. He died at home 19 hours after leaving one. But he greatly valued his care the last week of his life. And if he wasn't able to die at home, I suspect he would have thought that the VA hospital was the next best place.

Elizabeth Hovde writes a Sunday column for The Oregonian and posts regularly on The Stump. Reach her at ehovde@earthlink.net.